Two Percent Power (Book 1): Delivering Justice

by Brian Manning

  The park footage faded to black when the footage ended, but the security camera froze on the last frame. Showing the unknown hero looking up at the camera. The resolution left much to be desired, so facial features were not clear, but there was more than enough info about his abilities that they could use to identify him.

  He wrapped the meeting up, dismissing his captains. As Deadeye moved to the door, he gestured for her to stay behind.

  His face was devoid of any fear or frustration, but the look in his eye showed serious resolve. “We need this handled. In a most permanent way. I need to you teach the city how serious we are. I need to you show them what your name means.”

  “Of course,” she nodded in agreement. “I’ll take care of this.”

  “Do you understand what I’m asking?”

  Her eye narrowed. “Kill them all. Show the city what happens when anyone stands in our way.”

  Sight smiled. A sadistic grin that softened his features, save for his eyes. He dipped his chin giving a single nod, and turned back to look out the window.

  ISSUE TWO

  CHAPTER

  9

  It had been a while since Trevor visited Patrick. Weeks had passed this time. The frequency of the visits reduced more and more since Patrick had joined the informal team of superheroes with Boost and Speetah. He and Trevor had only spoken for a short time about the other supers he hung out with. He was trying to remember the details of the last conversation he and Trevor had when his phone buzzed. Patrick glanced at the screen to see who was calling him.

  “Speak of the devil.” He thumbed the accept icon. “Hey, Trevor.”

  “Patrick! Have you seen the video?”

  He knew Trevor was talking about the video of Boost and Speetah in the park. “Yeah, I was there.”

  “I know. I saw you at the end. But who are those other two you’re hanging out with?” He was speaking in short bursts, on the verge of his signature rapid fire questions, not waiting for an answer. Patrick figured he was too curious to steamroll over any responses this time.

  “That’s Boost and Speetah,” he said. Then he added, “like cheetah, but starting with S-P, instead of a C-H.”

  “She didn’t go with Cheetara? What a wasted opportunity.”

  “She’s well aware of that.”

  “Is she seeing anyone?”

  “Really, Trevor?”

  “Right, yeah, of course she is.” Trevor sounded far too convinced.

  “I didn’t bother to ask, but if it keeps you out of her hair, yeah, she does have a boyfriend.”

  “Ha, ha. What’s up with that other dude. The stocky guy. Is he just a strongman competitor or something?”

  As usual, Trevor didn’t have a problem changing directions so fast.

  “No, he’s actually crazy strong,” Patrick said. “I’ve seen him hurl a guy like 30 feet.” Patrick exaggerated just so he wouldn’t have to waste his breath trying to convince Trevor of Boost’s ability.

  “Why do I have to find about these two on social media?” Trevor asked.

  “I...” Patrick didn’t have a real reason. He just got caught up with the whole team up thing. “You’re right, man. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I wasn’t trying to hide anything, or keep you out of the loop. I just got so focused on trying to make this work.”

  “Right on. A regular Fantastic Four.”

  “Maybe you’re talking about a different video. There are only three of us.”

  Trevor cleared his throat a couple of times before Patrick realized what he meant before the two of them laughed.

  “What’s up with all of this?” Trevor asked.

  Patrick was caught off guard by the question. “All what? Are you talking about something on your end?”

  “Yeah.” He paused for a second before continuing. “Yeah, there have been quite a few small groups of people walking down my block. A couple were a little early for Halloween.”

  “What do you mean? What are they wearing?”

  “Need some fashion tips for your costume, Milky?”

  Patrick laughed to mask his concern. “Yeah, nothing in the Spring catalog is popping out right now.”

  “Well, most are wearing sweats or jeans, with jackets.”

  Patrick relaxed a little.

  “But some of them are wearing stiff looking paramilitary style outfits,” Trevor continued.

  Patrick was silent.

  “Looks like some tall woman with a funky looking visor is also with them. She looks straight out of the Rhythm Nation video!”

  “Stay inside. I’m on my way,” Patrick’s voice was flat. He hung up before Trevor could respond. He walked to his bedroom closet while calling Boost.

  CHAPTER

  10

  6 years ago

  Cassandra Owens, wage slave, coffee addict, and social media junkie, rocked back and forth on her high heeled shoes. Purse tucked under one arm, coffee in one hand, deposit slips in the other. She glanced over and around the other bank customers in line, hoping to discover the source of the hold up. Why were the tellers so slow today? So slow every day? This was the bi-weekly, after work chore she both looked forward to and dreaded. The paycheck was needed to cover her expenses, and make it another 14 days until her next ‘fix’. Every 80 hours she spent, enclosed within her cubicle walls, was another two weeks of financial security.

  Every other Friday, she had to stand in this line to deposit her check. Four months on the job and she still wasn’t able to set up a direct deposit to her account. She always swore the following Monday it would be something to take up with the human resources department. But a weekend of unwinding, watching TV, and consuming copious amounts of coffee always pushed it from her mind. The process was repeated every pay day.

  This time would be much different. This was the last payday Cassandra would have to suffer through this line. She swore to herself, impatient, wishing everyone would just move. As if they were linked to her thoughts, the crowd started splitting from the front of the line, back to where she was.

  The marble floors and pillars reflected their screams, filling the bank lobby with echoes of panic. She stood planted to the floor, looking at a man, or a machine, facing the teller window. A trench coat lay on the floor behind it. Its back was covered with wires, glowing discs, and other mechanical parts. There was an orange glow in front of the man-like machine, as the Plexiglas wall poured out of his way. A heavy gloved hand landed on the counter with a thud as the thing pushed itself up. Strands of cooling plastic clung to the glove as the mechanical man-thing rose.

  It turned to address the frightened crowd. Its face was half man, half machine. The face, what was visible of it, was covered in burn scars. The pale, milky tissue had long healed, leaving a blotchy, stringy pattern across the top half of his bald head and exposed face. The rest was buried beneath a mass of tubes, wires, plastic, and metal plates.

  Cassandra could only stand there in fear and awe. She didn’t feel the hot latte splash over her foot and leg as the coffee cup and deposit slip slid out of her shaking hands. She lost all perception of time as events alternated between crawling and sprinting in her mind. The man-machine spoke, its voice was both grating and mechanical, like a Speak-and-Spell reprogrammed with the correct pronunciation of words and phrases. She heard everything he said, but couldn’t process the sentences in her head. Her eyes were fixed on the small logo on his chest plate. It was the symbol for radioactive material. All in red.

  Her world tumbled as someone knocked her down from behind. She hit the ground, landing hard on her elbow. The pain didn’t register, as she watched the man-machine fighting with one of the security guards. No, it wasn’t a security guard, it was someone wearing a strange costume that looked like something out of a low budget theater production. A patchwork of color matching fabrics, with a stiff looking cape. The man also wore gloves that matched his boots. A superhero, here to take on the bank robber.

  Cassandra’s heart was pounding
so hard, she could feel it in her throat. Her head swam as the world around her grew fuzzy. The two figures, locked in combat, tossed each other around. Taking turns landing heavy blows or firing blasts of energy at each other, each with a distinctive color. The other customers were trying to stay out of the way, or attempting to make a break for the exit. The man-machine was hurled into a group of people. The hero was knocked back against a desk where some others tried to hide. Lighting fixtures shattered. Wooden furniture splintered. Each blow put everyone around them in danger.

  The hero took control of the situation at last. He had subdued the man-machine. The radioactive monstrosity that tore the place apart. Not content with his victory, the hero hoisted the villain back to his feet, pulled his fist back, and unleashed a powerful punch, shattering the thing’s face mask.

  Cassandra felt a spray of plastic and metal debris along with a scalding liquid. She screamed as the pain spread down her right arm and the right side of her face. Like someone was stabbing her over and over in the face and eye with hot needles. The blackness overcame her as she passed out.

  Cassandra stood outside in the darkness. Her visor was flipped to her left, revealing her dark purple eye. Her “dead eye.” She thought back to how events of her past played out. The bank robbery. The long recovery. The bankruptcy due to her overwhelming medical bills. She lost her job. Lost her house. Lost everything. The ‘hero’ felt no remorse for his part in the brawl that killed two people and injured at least a dozen others, including herself.

  Having left the sprawling metropolis she grew up in, she moved to this much smaller city, living in various shelters and on the streets, as she recovered. The healing process took a long time, but after a time the scarring faded, leaving almost no trace. The only exception was the red and purple network of lines and scars around her right eye. The eye itself, had also permanently changed in appearance, but the powers she developed were a fair trade. She had developed the ability to fire a beam of destructive force out of her altered eye. An ability possibly granted by the strange scalding fluids that coursed through the man-machine’s patchwork battle suit.

  She felt that her new found ability directed her along a different path. A sign of what she must now do. Kill the reckless heroes ruining the lives of those around them, attacking criminals with no regard for the safety of others. Criminals that the incompetent police force should have handled long before. The supers were a major problem, and even the police stood by and watched in wonder, like hypnotized fools, as cities were torn down around them.

  The supers looked down upon the masses. Regular people were just ants, stumbling in the way of the gods and their petty squabbles. Every day was yet another national story about how hero ‘X’ defeated villain ‘Y’ in some far off state or country. Sometimes, there would be a small note about the casualties from the fight, but oftentimes not.

  Months after her recovery, she found Sight. He took care of her finances, provided shelter, and even helped her ‘see’ her path clearly. She joined his cause, helping him build the Visionaries. Helping him take over the city. She was instrumental in their commandeering of the Watchtower. A mix of financial maneuvering and strong arming existing tenants. All she asked in return was the opportunity to accomplish her new mission. A chance to tangle with every idiot that developed super powers and tied a cape around their neck to ‘defend the city.’ Her financial compensation was just the icing on the cake.

  Almost three weeks had passed since Sight tasked her with eliminating the threat to the Visionaries. It only took her a few minutes to formulate the plan in her head, but it had taken this long to assemble everything she needed to set her trap. The location was central to the three documented encounters with the various heroes causing the trouble for Sight. The corner store, where they obtained the security camera footage, was the southernmost point. The closest to the Watchtower. The second and third points, the jewelry store, and the park, respectively, were the other two locations. She used these three points to triangulate and find the perfect spot to set up.

  She felt they had to be operating in this neighborhood, so Visionaries were sent out in small three person teams. A pair of them would commit various crimes, hoping to get the attention of any heroes nearby. Another would take a position high up, with a good view of each area. They were the over watch, keeping an eye out for someone approaching. Once a hero was spotted, Deadeye’s orders were clear. No one was to engage. They were to lure the unsuspecting hero into her web.

  The trap was an empty parking lot, off of a smaller side street. It was perfect, since three high windowless walls from the surrounding buildings enclosed the space. After blocking the small alleys between the buildings, the only way in or out was through the opening in the gate of the parking lot. The booth in front was unoccupied. The striped wooden arm stood guard on one side, preventing any cars from entering. On the other side, a series of single direction spikes, a tire hazard, prevented anyone from circumventing the wooden gatekeeper. Four high powered spotlights were fixed to the light posts in the corners, all pointing to the center of the makeshift arena. Wires ran down and connected to a single large bank of batteries, ready to power them up.

  She stressed the importance of luring them into the parking lot. They needed to reach her location in order for the trap to work. All other soldiers were to head to her when the trap was sprung. The idea was to overwhelm any heroes with sheer numbers. They had to teach the heroes a lesson. No one should be able to wield that kind of power, and ruin lives around them, without facing the repercussions.

  Deadeye leaned against the cold brick wall behind her, and listened in on the radio chatter of the various teams checking in and reporting their activities. She closed her eyes and the voices all droned on.

  Her eyes snapped open when one of the voices addressed her.

  “We’ve got one, ma’am. We’re headed your way,” the voice crackled.

  CHAPTER

  11

  Boost got the call from Patrick half an hour earlier. He was out the door and already in the area to help. More of those junior ROTC goons wandering around was a bad thing, if they’re wandering around in the numbers Patrick was talking about.

  Speetah had beat both of them there, of course. The three of them remain in contact, using a set of walkie-talkies, all sharing the same channel. It wasn’t the most secure method of staying in touch, but the convenience outweighed the potential risk. She almost never spoke, only chiming in when she needed to provide an answer, or if addressed. Their silly radio chatter was more of an annoyance to her, but tonight was different. Patrick’s mind was focused on something else.

  Boost did his best to keep the mood light. He continued his list of names to keep his friend at ease. “How about The Calcifier?”

  Patrick’s voice crackled in response. “That’s awful. Sounds like I’m trying to turn people into stone.” He did his best to sound calm, but Boost could tell he was just playing along to keep his mind preoccupied. His friend, Trevor, didn’t realize how much danger he and his family could be in. Patrick did mention that he was a bit concerned when they dealt with the first group dressed in military inspired uniforms. They seemed to have some type of backing, based on their equipment and tactics. Plus one of them had mentioned someone named ‘Sight.’ Their leader?

  “Oh, so you want something fancy? How about Fluid, or Flow?”

  “Flo? Like someone’s grandma? Your names are so bad,” Speetah said in one of her rare moments of participation.

  Patrick’s laughter blocked Boost’s attempted recovery. It was nice to hear, so he didn’t feel the need to try and talk over it.

  Boost waited for the laughter to die down before he spoke. “Alright, guys. I’m going to stay quiet for now, while I take a look up this street.”

  “Let us know if you see anything,” Patrick said.

  Boost was following Patrick’s lead, updating his outfit. He was wearing an all-weather rugged jacket, with plenty of pockets and pouches
all over. Great for spare ammo for guns, flares, compass, and all kinds of gear he wouldn’t need. But he liked the way it pulled his costume together. Plus, he had somewhere to stash his snacks, wallet, keys, and walkie-talkie. The domino mask was still part of his look. Not so much to conceal, as to look the part of a superhero. Like The Spirit, or Green Arrow. His shoes were much more appropriate for fighting crime, as well. His head was covered by a knit beanie to keep warm, but if the others thought it looked cool, he would consider keeping it.

  He pulled a small pair of binoculars from the pouch on his hip and unclipped the flashlight from his pants pocket. Why didn’t I just tuck them into one of these pockets? he thought, looking at all the spare storage of his jacket. Kneeling next to a car, he steadied himself, while looking through the binoculars. He scanned both directions, as far as he could see, before moving on. Each dark patch, or alleyway, was hit with his flashlight, dispelling the shadows. Halfway up the street, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Maybe the large group was just passing through, headed for a different location. Still not a good thing, but still comforting that they weren’t putting Patrick’s friends in any danger.

  “Hey, I’m not seeing anything out here,” he said to the others.

  “Yeah, it’s looking pretty barren now,” Patrick said. “I guess they’ve moved on.”

  “It’s getting cold out here, but I’m going to check to the end of the street before packing it up,” Boost said.

  He turned to look back at how far he had already walked. Someone was at the other end of the street. Ducking into an alley, he peered out with the binoculars.